


kiss me, just once, for luck

by reystarkrogers



Category: The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Baseball, Cuddling & Snuggling, Fluff, Getting Together, M/M, Minor Steve Rogers/Tony Stark, Mutual Pining, Sharing a Bed, Steve Rogers is a little shit, The Avengers Are Good Bros
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-06
Updated: 2018-10-24
Packaged: 2019-07-07 23:34:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 13
Words: 17,471
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15918513
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/reystarkrogers/pseuds/reystarkrogers
Summary: Clint Barton, nicknamed "Hawkeye" by teammates and fans alike, is a pitcher with a killer strikeout record. Bucky Barnes, known as "the asset," may just be the most brilliant up-and-coming catcher in the system. They go down in history as the best battery and dopiest couple in minor league baseball.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Title taken from Desperate Measures by Mariana's Trench, which undoubtedly will reflect the general spirit of this fanfiction.
> 
> This is my first fanfiction ever and I am excited to be a part of it. No beta can be blamed for this work of art. 
> 
> I would like to thank tumblr user iseasilyamused for ideas and for making the fic feel like an actual good idea.

Mornings, Clint thinks, are an insufferable bitch of an inconvenience.

Clint resists the urge to scrub at his eyes with his hands. He and Natasha had arrived at the hotel around ten last night, but after a round of celebratory drinking with their local teammates followed by late-night games of darts in the hotel bar, Clint hadn’t returned to his own hotel room until four. He also hadn't remembered to take his hearing aids out and is now sporting the resulting headache with regret.

Immediately upon his arrival at the eight o’clock welcome meeting for the single-A Albany Avengers, Clint is especially aware of his own poor decision making but suspects that Nat, who's sitting in the chair adjacent to Clint’s, would be highly suspicious of his ability to be self-aware about anything.

Clint decides that she's probably right.

“Heads up, Hawkeye,” Tony says as he jostles past Clint on his way into the clubhouse.

Clint blinks the sleep out of his eyes and narrows them at the back of Tony’s baseball cap.

Tony doesn’t so much as turn around, slapping Rhodey’s ass viciously as he passes and earning himself a half-hearted cuff to the ear.

“The only thing I hate more than mornings are morning meetings. And it’s Friday,” Sam groans, slamming his locker closed and leaning his head against the red painted metal.

Across the locker room, Tony brandishes the coffee pot at Sam a little wildly and Thor, standing in the coffee splash zone, turns to glare at him.

“Coffee heals all wounds. My life motto,” Tony says with a shit-eating grin at Thor, returning the now-dripping container to its resting place.

Clint could get behind that. He remembers his own coffee sitting sadly on the bench in front of him and picks it back up like a warm, caffeinated lifeline.

“I thought ‘Life is short; drive fast and leave a sexy corpse,’ was your motto,” Peter says from his prone position on one of the benches.

“That’s one of his mottos,” Steve says, grinning and banging through the swinging doors, duffel bag in tow.

Clint loves Steve with his whole heart but laments his chipper morning attitude on days like today. Mostly every day, really.

Clint continues to clutch his coffee and watches as a guy with chin-length dark hair covered partially by a navy baseball cap slinks in behind Steve.

Before Clint can say anything about the new addition to the clubhouse, Scott butts in to the conversation. He is the most unhelpful man Clint has ever met, and Clint is close friends with Tony Stark.

“Tell us more of Tony’s mottos, Steve,” Scott says from the floor thoughtfully, his back against his locker.

“Well,” Steve begins, setting his bag down with what Clint knows is a deceptively straight face learned from playing poker with Natasha, “One of them was ‘When you’re horny, don't--’”

Tony cuts in, ears tingeing pink, “That was just advice, you little shit--”

Clint is instantly relieved when Nick Fury, the Avengers’ coach, sweeps into the room wearing his usual black ensemble (no team spirit at all, this man) with his equally menacing coaching assistant Maria Hill at his heels.

Behind the fearsome pair, Doctor Bruce Banner, the team’s beloved and highly intelligent physical trainer, gives a friendly wave with the hand not holding his clipboard before pushing his glasses up his nose.

“Sorry to break up the team chatter,” Fury says, eyeing Stark and not looking sorry at all.

The others settle into seats scattered around the room and Clint sits a little taller in his chair, glancing again at Steve’s new shadow.

“Welcome to a new season of baseball.” Scattered applause travels around the room. “Our first order of business is the loss of a returning player,” Fury continues.

Clint sips his coffee and takes mental roll of the roster from the end of last season, looking around the room with more purpose.

At a bench towards the front of the locker room sit many familiar backup players and designated hitters looking eager to start the season.

Thor, the crowd favorite designated hitter and Clint’s favorite drinking buddy, is seated behind the rest of the DH crew in solidarity.

Peter, Sam, and Scott, the team’s energetic (albeit not this morning) outfielders, are clustered closer to the lockers.

Rhodes, shortstop, is leaning against a locker near his longtime best friend Tony, who plays a mean third base and has a wicked arm.

Nat, Clint’s longest and best friend, is the team’s terrifyingly efficient and athletic first baseman.

Steve, shrewd and powerful protector of second base, who Clint thanks his lucky stars for every time Steve unbelievably has his back during a tough game, is positioned near the far wall with his silent mystery guest.

Clint adds himself to the list, the starting pitcher (with a killer strikeout record, he might add).

And T’Challa, the Avengers’ starting catcher--huh.

It slowly dawns on Clint’s sleep-addled brain that T’Challa, like Steve, is a notoriously early riser and is conspicuously absent.

How the hell had he missed the absence of his own battery partner? Clint chalks it up to lack of sleep and T’Challa’s usual unruffled, under-the-radar demeanor.

“What happened?” Steve asks, glancing around like Clint just had. “Where’s T’Challa?”

Still at Fury’s elbow, Hill opens her folder.

“He decided to stay in California and take over management of his family’s local outreach program. T’Challa sends his regards, but says ‘his heart must do what is right’,” she says, reading off what looks like a printed-out email.

Clint can’t say he’s shocked. He only played with T’Challa for a season and wasn’t personally close to him by any means, but T’Challa was a solid player, brilliant mediator for the team, and a good friend to his teammates. He will be missed.

The murmurs from the team around the locker room confirm as much.

T’Challa’s absence, Clint thinks, opens up an interesting obstacle. As the starting pitcher, Clint knows that his success rate for the season depends largely upon who is assigned as his catcher.

Clint’s eyes rove around the room again, eventually falling back on Steve’s personified shadow. Clint’s gaze is met by contemplative ice-blue eyes.

“This season, the Avengers organization has signed James Barnes as our starting catcher,” Fury indicates their new teammate with a nod.

Clint watches as Steve pokes at the man--James--until he gives a small wave and sheepishly grins at the team. He has a nice smile, Clint notes.

“You can call me Bucky,” the man offers.

“Barton--” Fury begins, and Clint pulls his gaze from Bucky.

“I expect you to give your new partner a tour of the facilities and local offerings over the weekend. And I expect all of you--” Fury turns to the room at large, “to make him feel welcome as well. Practice starts Monday.”

“Dismissed,” Hill adds, following Fury out of the room.

After the coaches exit, Clint catches Natasha staring at him in thought.

“What?” Clint asks, perplexed. He automatically checks his shirt for a stain.

Natasha moves to pull her hair back out of her face.

“Just wondering how you and your new partner will get along,” she says.

Clint stands and stretches. He wonders about that too.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> find me on tumblr @bart0nclint to send me ideas for upcoming chapters : )

"I really, _really_ feel like you should stop right about now,” Bruce says nervously, glancing from Tony to Clint and back again from his seat safely at the edge of the bar.

Most of the team have come out for an evening of what Clint calls “team building” but which actually translates as “drinking and making fun of each other’s drunken antics.” It’s one of Clint’s favorite team activities, aside from, you know, actually playing baseball.

Tony turns to face Bruce, continuing to munch the pretzels in his hands.

“Aw, come on, Brucie,” Tony whines. “Hawkeye here never misses.”

Clint braces his foot against the wall and tugs the last remaining dart out of the stained wood. He and Tony had struck up their longstanding game of “What can Clint hit with a dart while drinking various amounts of alcohol?”

The answer, it turns out, is pretty much anything. Today, though, it’s pretzels being flung through the air before being instantly hemmed down by Clint’s eerily accurate dart throws.

The team are in assorted states of inebriation. Steve is speaking quietly into his phone and Bucky is watching the dart fiasco with lucid interest. Natasha busies herself with vodka at the bar beside Bruce as Sam and Scott laugh uproariously from the corner booth at something foolish Peter has done.

Steve hangs up the phone.

“That was Fury. There’s been a problem with your rooms at the hotel,” Steve says, mostly to Clint.

Natasha looks up from her drink, the corner of her mouth turning down as she swivels to face Steve.

Clint frowns. “We just stayed there last night,” he says, thinking of the team apartments that Hill said wouldn’t be ready until next week. Finding another hotel for that long without a prior reservation is nearly impossible at this point.

“The hotel staff called Fury and said that the AC on the upper floors is broken with no maintenance within the next two weeks. He called me to see about temporary living arrangements for you and Nat--” Steve begins.

“I was going to see Pepper anyway,” Nat interrupts. “I’ll just bunk with her until the apartments are all set.”

Clint throws her a wounded look. “You would leave me, Nat? I thought you loved me,” Clint pouts. He gets it, though. Pepper is the general manager of the single-A franchise and one of Natasha’s favorite in-season friends. She and Natasha especially enjoy terrorizing Tony (he usually deserves it) and really, who is Clint to get in the way of that?

“Clint, you’re going to stay with me,” Steve cuts in before Clint can become a sad, lonely puddle in the floor. “I have plenty of room--and coffee.”

Clint is delighted. He loves Steve so much.

*****

Eventually, they leave the bar. Only after going back to the hotel to gather his things and arriving at Steve’s does Clint realize that Bucky's staying with Steve as well.

This is probably good, right? Clint was supposed to hang out with Bucky this weekend anyway and this will provide him with the perfect opportunity.

Clint drops his duffel behind Steve’s sofa before stretching out on the worn plaid fabric. Clint’s team-sponsored therapist says that he should call things that he's afraid to do an “opportunity.” He can’t fully pinpoint the cause of his nervousness to befriend Bucky, but he suspects it’s just a totally mild case of terror that he will hate Bucky or Bucky will hate him. Either way, everyone suffers. The world burns. The season is ruined. Clint needs to go to bed.

Clint rubs his eyes, stuffs his face into a pillow, and breathes deeply. Steve gently taps him on the back twice. Clint looks up though the spots in his vision to see Steve holding a neatly folded set of blue sheets with a matching blanket and pillow. Clint makes grabby hands at them and Steve grins.

“Get off your ass, then, Hawkeye,” Steve says. “Let’s make up your nest.”

Clint scowls but complies. He notices Bucky standing in the doorway watching.

Steve notices Clint noticing. “I already let Buck have the spare room, so unless you like sharing, I figured you’d be all right with the couch,” he says.

Clint takes in Bucky’s fluffed up hair, worn-out Spiderman t-shirt, and soft sweatpants full of holes and can’t resist making a show of looking him up and down in mock consideration. “It's a hard habit to break, but I try not to go to bed with scraggly fashion disasters,” he says.

Clint has to stop himself from clapping a hand over his mouth. He doesn’t know Bucky well enough to joke like that. He chances a glance back at Bucky and takes in his raised eyebrows and the unmistakable upward tick of the corner of his mouth.

“Just as well. I try not to make a habit of taking sarcastic purple assholes to bed,” Bucky tosses back easily.

Clint decides right then and there that he likes Bucky. Steve looks back and forth between the two of them, the almost-unnoticeable tension leaving the line of his shoulders and mild amusement taking over his features. He straightens up from where he was tucking in the last sheet corner with as much military precision as he can muster with a bedsheet and a couch.

Clint pats Steve’s shoulder in thanks and settles back down on his lovely, soft makeshift bed.

“I’m sending you boys to the store in the morning,” Steve says as he stretches and pads towards his bedroom.

Clint, tired and weak, rolls his head to look at Bucky. Bucky shrugs.

“Anything for you, Stevie,” Bucky says before flicking the lights off and exiting the doorway.

Clint sighs, snuggles in, and sleeps like a rock.

*****

Clint and Bucky get along like a house on fire. Which, come to think of it, doesn’t sound like a good thing, Clint thinks. But it is.

They go grocery shopping after going for a run with Steve. Clint almost dies twice because Steve and Bucky are some kind of superhuman species, but he makes the circuit and has never been so thankful for breakfast.

Clint watches Bucky as he stands in front of the Rice Chex, eyebrows looming low as he considers the brightly colored boxes.

“I had no idea your arm is a prosthesis,” Clint says conversationally, adding two boxes of Lucky Charms to the cart. He saw the arm in all its metallic glory this morning when Bucky wore a black tank top during their run. Clint would have noticed it before had it not been for Bucky’s long sleeves and utter nonchalance about the existence of the prosthesis.

“Yup. Bad accident when I was in high school,” Bucky says, not looking up. He finally picks up a box of Frosted Flakes and drops it in the cart, smiling briefly at Clint before moving down to inspect the oatmeal. “I had a hell of a time explaining it to MiLB. They took it in for investigation and Tony and Pepper had to get involved to convince them that it was solely a prosthesis and not enhanced at all.”

Clint nods. He understands more than most. He had been required to hand over his hearing aids for the same kind of investigation when he first started playing for the franchise. It sucks, and he says as much to Bucky.

Bucky does look up then, staring at Clint with something lighter in his eyes, like someone understands. Clint just grins.

They finish their shopping trip and Steve inspects their purchases when they arrive.

“Seriously, Clint. How many boxes of Pop Tarts do three people need?”

Clint and Bucky just smirk at each other. They get along like a house on fire and Clint is glad for the warmth.


	3. Chapter 3

Steve makes Clint and Bucky give most of the Pop Tarts to Thor, who is predictably delighted. Thor claps Clint on the shoulder so hard he almost doubles over. Bucky gets a good chuckle out of it before he gets the same treatment. Clint shoots him a smug look as Bucky winces and rolls his shoulder in the socket.

The team has gathered for poker in Tony’s spacious dining room. Clint always forgets how huge Tony’s house is until he remembers that Tony daylights as the head of engineering research at Stark Resilient, the energy technology company he inherited from his father and signed over to Pepper as the CEO. Tony, as much as Clint sometimes is pained to admit it, is absolutely brilliant, and Pepper is just as skilled a CEO as she is a baseball franchise manager. Managing the team is a fun hobby for her, anyway.

“Steve, how did Clint and Bucky get on at your place? Any clue of who’s pitching and who’s catching this year?” Tony says with a toothy grin as he sits down at the table.

Clint takes it back. Tony is most definitely not brilliant and is most definitely an asshole. Clint pointedly rolls his eyes at the cheap joke (it’s not like he hasn’t heard that one a billion times before) and tries to read Bucky’s reaction in his peripheral vision without calling attention to the fact that he's even checking.

Bucky, who is sitting in the chair to Clint’s right, seems absolutely unbothered by the wisecrack. He continues to loosely hang on to one of the slats on the back of Clint’s chair with his metal hand and flips Tony the bird with the other.

Clint lets out a breath he didn’t know he had been holding.

Steve continues to shuffle and then deal the cards with the air of someone who is utterly unperturbed by Tony’s shit. The rest of the team follow suit and pick up their cards.

The first round continues as usual--or as usual as Clint thinks a game of poker with a fractious group of baseball players should go. Natasha unsurprisingly wins the round with a full house, queens over sevens, just edging out Sam’s spade flush.

Clint feels himself slowly melt into the shuffling and dealing, listening to his teammates’ insults and brash laughter. Bucky seems to be fitting in well by the looks of his easy smile and jibes at Tony and Steve. Clint briefly wonders how things will go on Monday when they actually have to practice as a team before focusing back on his extraordinarily poor hand. He throws down the cards and rubs at his face.

The doorbell rings and Phil Coulson enters through the front door without waiting for a proper answer almost as if Clint had conjured the team’s psychologist just by thinking about practice. Clint slumps in his chair as Rhodey collects his cards. It’s just like Coulson to read Clint’s thoughts, he thinks moodily.

“Well hello, _Agent_ ,” Tony says, quirking an eyebrow and leaning back in his chair with his hands behind his head. “So nice of you to join us.”

Clint knows that most of the team refer to Coulson as Agent because of his decidedly undoctorlike tendency to appear out of nowhere and uncanny ability to strongarm every member of the team into doing what he, Fury, Hill, and Pepper want. Clint has also caught Coulson on multiple occasions asking him about things that the psychologist should have no way of already knowing, hence the nickname of Agent.

“Thank you, Tony, but please don’t call me Agent. We’ve talked about this. You can call me Phil, Coulson, or Dr. Coulson. And don’t--” Coulson presses on just as Tony opens his mouth, “call me Dr. Phil either.”

Tony snaps his mouth shut, folds his arms, and pouts about his ruined joke. Coulson goes to stand at Steve’s shoulder near the head of the table and Clint watches Bucky roll his eyes minutely. He knows about Coulson’s not-so-secret manful crush on Steve, then.

Coulson sets his briefcase on the countertop behind him and opens it to lift out a stack of red file folders. Clint can see from here that each of his teammates’ names are neatly printed on the tabs of the folders and his heart begins to sink. These, Clint suddenly remembers, are the infamous Assessment Folders.

Aw, folders, no.

The rest of the team seems to realize the folders’ significance at the same time Clint does and a series of sighs and groans echoes throughout the dining area. Coulson turns around as if he didn’t hear and begins to pass out the damn things.

“This year’s assessment reflects past assessments as well as your performance last year,” Coulson recites. “During your preliminary psychological evaluations, we will discuss your strengths and areas of improvement at length.”

Sam huffs out a laugh as he opens his folder. “So we’re not calling them weaknesses anymore? They’re areas of improvement instead?”

“We thought that phrasing would motivate you to improve more than it would frustrate you,” Coulson says calmly.

Steve looks up from his open folder abruptly. Clint knows from the angle of his eyebrows and the set of his jaw that something has caused Steve to become exceedingly frustrated even though Coulson has just said he wanted to avoid that exact sentiment.

“Are you kidding me, Coulson?” Steve says with a hint of accusation in his tone.

The tips of Coulson’s ears pink a little.

Clint is nosy, so he looks over at Steve’s assessment. His eyes skip over the long list of Steve’s strengths and land on the usually empty bottom half of the page. Coulson has a crush on the man, after all.

The assessor, revealed to Clint as Fury by the handwriting, has scribbled out “areas of improvement” and written “WEAKNESSES” in dark, slanting capital letters above it. Below the section heading is a single word in the same imposing print: STARK.

Clint has to force himself not to snort. Tony, seeing Clint’s near fit, leans over to read the assessment and Steve whips the folder closed and snatches it off the table before Tony can see it.

Coulson, as placid as ever, snaps his briefcase closed just as Tony returns to his seat, watching Steve like he wants to analyze and assess the man himself.

“I will see all of you on Monday to set up preliminary evaluations,” Coulson says by way of goodbye. He exits without a backwards glance.

Clint looks down at his unopened folder on the table and decides to worry about it later. It's definitely a problem for Future Clint to deal with, that sucker. Present Clint glances at Bucky, who was apparently already looking at him. Without Clint having to say anything, Bucky appears to understand the unspoken sentiment, giving a small nod and leaving his folder alone as well.

Natasha stands up and is the first to speak. “I don’t know about you boys, but I’m hitting the bunks early tonight,” she says before beginning to precariously stack empty cups and snack bowls.

Clint feels Bucky jostle his knee under the table and looks up to see him offer a conspiratorial shrug and small grin like he and Clint are in this--the team, the assessments, the Steve and Tony Shitshow--together.

Clint kicks out at Bucky’s ankle in return and feels the spark of hope in his chest flare up for his budding friendship with Bucky and their upcoming season together.

The team cleans up the dining area and everyone says their goodbyes. As Clint rides in the back of Steve’s car behind Bucky, he can’t help the grin spreading over his face as he leans his forehead against the cool window.

Strengths and weaknesses be damned, Clint Barton is going to have a good season.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Credit to tumblr user @itsallavengers for an old post about Steve's weaknesses found at https://itsallavengers.tumblr.com/post/169632948931/shield-keep-files-on-all-the-avengers-and-under.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bucky's POV this time, due to Clint's biceps.

Bucky shivers in the cool evening air as dusk creeps over the pavement of the parking lot outside Steve’s apartment complex. Steve had told him to wear a sweatshirt (“You always get cold, Buck”), but Bucky had stubbornly ignored Steve’s mother-henning.

Bucky pulls the rolled-up sleeves of his blue henley down to his wrists and sniffs. He's acutely aware of the early spring breeze ruffling his hair and a warm Clint Barton shifting from foot to foot at his elbow.

At Steve’s behest, Bucky and Clint had come outside to throw a few pitches before their first practice in the morning. All the three of them had done all day is read through their red folders, complain, and watch Food Network. Tony had come for dinner and gone already, claiming he had paperwork to do for Pepper, which seems about right for the Sunday night before a practice.

Bucky shivers again and notices that Clint is wearing a tactical-looking black windbreaker. Bucky glares mutinously at one of the zippers as he punches the worn center of his catcher’s mitt.

Clint catches Bucky’s eye and grins, and Bucky feels his glare falter a little. All things considered, Bucky has grown to like Barton in the few days he’s known him. Clint's a little bit reckless, a whole lot mouthy, and everything Bucky wants in a partner-in-crime.

Bucky hopes that their easy rapport transfers to the baseball diamond.

They wander to the empty half of the parking lot and Clint throws down his glove and immediately begins windmilling his arms--this must be the Barton take on stretching, Bucky thinks. Following suit, Bucky sinks into a crouch to begin stretching his hips and legs.

Bucky can’t hide his amusement as Clint continues to flap his arms in varying circumferences, his windblown hair making him look oddly like a baby bird. Bucky sticks his left leg out in front of him and leans on his thigh before alternating sides.

Clint stops flapping and begins rotating through what Bucky recognizes as actual pitcher’s arm stretches. He stops abruptly and glances over at Bucky.

“Hey, can you--”

Bucky is up and on his way over before Clint can finish the sentence. He steps behind Clint to catch and pull his elbow further into the stretch.

As Clint continues to stretch his arms and shoulders with the help of Bucky’s gentle coaxing, Bucky is blindsided by a sudden awareness of their proximity--hands, shoulders, the brief nudge of Bucky’s metal hand on Clint’s side to arrange his position properly.

Bucky had forgotten about this part--the closeness, the touching. As Clint’s muscles flex and stretch under his fingers, Bucky’s neck feels a little warm and his foregoing the sweatshirt seems like an alright idea after all.

Clint straightens up and steps away, not looking up at Bucky until he picks up his glove and takes measured paces across the edge of the parking lot.

Bucky watches Clint turn around at the edge of the grass with a proud grin.

“Sixty feet, six inches,” Clint calls across the distance.

It looks right to Bucky, but he rolls his eyes anyway.

“Yeah, I’m definitely bringing a tape measure next time,” Bucky mutters as he pulls Steve’s baseball out of his sweatpants pocket. It’s stamped with the American flag.

“Can’t hear you,” Clint sing-songs, tapping at where Bucky knows he would see Clint’s hearing aids if he were closer.

“I said--” Bucky throws the ball to Clint with a little more force than is strictly necessary, “I’m bringing a tape measure next time.”

Clint, the bastard, catches the ball without even looking at it, grinning cheekily.

“So, what’ll it be, Barnes? Fastball? Curve? Screwball? Beanball--”

Bucky cuts him off, shaking his head. “Fastball. Idiot.”

Clint gets serious then. He winds up and delivers one of the most accurate first pitches Bucky’s seen to date. He gives a low whistle as he returns the ball.

“I can do better,” Clint says, already tossing down his glove with the ball inside.

Bucky frowns, but then his eyebrows begin to lift as Clint unzips his windbreaker at both shoulders. The sleeves are removable, Bucky belatedly realizes. Clint shucks off the offending sleeves and briefly stretches again in an unfair show of his impressive biceps (Bucky is agonized to catch himself thinking that they look as good as they feel).

In theory, Clint should look completely foolish, Bucky thinks, but the jacket turned tac vest weirdly suits him. Only Clint Barton could purchase the most ridiculous item of outerwear and end up looking like a special forces agent.

Bucky realizes in mild horror that he’s been staring for too long and snaps his focus to inspecting his glove. Yep, stitches all accounted for. It’s still not as interesting as Clint’s arms.

Once Bucky’s face has returned to a reasonable temperature and he regains the use of his tongue, he returns his attention to Clint, who looks decidedly smug.

“All right, Barton,” Bucky grouses, “Just--throw it. Throw it a bunch of times and we’ll see where we’re at.”

Clint is good at all manner of pitches, as it turns out, each one as accurate as the last. Bucky knows narrow strike zones, and he’s not sure an ump could have one narrow enough to call a ball on more than just a couple of Clint’s pitches. No wonder they call him Hawkeye.

Bucky doesn’t bother signaling for pitches and opts to let Clint decide. Clint has no particular pattern of attack and has a wicked screwball, which Bucky is positively delighted by. None of Bucky’s previous pitching partners quite live up to the standard that Clint is currently setting.

The pair of them continue like this until Bucky hears slow clapping pick up from the edge of the parking lot closest to the apartment complex. Clint catches the ball a final time and rolls his eyes at Bucky, who just sighs.

It’s Steve, smiling sheepishly in his sleep clothes and rubbing at his arms periodically in an attempt to keep warm. Clint and Bucky look at each other and silently agree to head inside for the night. In the midst of their practice session, Bucky had forgotten how cold he was and suddenly can’t wait to snuggle in under some blankets. Clint collects his discarded sleeves and catches up with Bucky.

“I haven’t seen Clint throw that well since he had that bet with Natasha,” Steve says as he, Clint, and Bucky walk together towards Steve’s apartment.

Clint narrows his eyes and tries to smack Steve’s ass, but Steve giggles and dances out of the way.

“I’m good and you know it!” Clint says, elbowing Bucky for good measure.

Bucky pushes back at Clint with his metal hand but nods in agreement.

“He is,” Bucky admits.

Steve raises his eyebrows and looks at Clint. “You’re better with Bucky, it looks like.”

Steve barely makes it through the door before Clint flings his glove at Steve’s retreating back. Clint’s ear looks a bit pink, and Bucky feels a little better about his earlier biceps-related fit.

After entering his room, Bucky is halfway through putting on a second sweatshirt before he hears a ruckus from the living room. He finishes putting on his thickest pair of socks before going out into Clint’s temporary living quarters. Bucky finds Clint under his blanket, kicking wildly in a ridiculous attempt to generate heat from friction.

Bucky sits down in the narrow space on the couch near Clint’s feet and Clint immediately shoves said feet under Bucky’s thigh and sighs contentedly.

“You’re warm,” Clint says, wiggling his toes.

Bucky slips his hands into his sweatshirt pocket and leans his head back against the couch.

Steve sticks his head out of his bedroom door. “Practice is bright and early tomorrow, boys. I’m bedding down for the evening,” Steve says, giving a jaunty salute before flipping the hall lights off.

“‘Night, Steve,” Bucky says, eyes beginning to close as he warms up in his sweatshirt cocoon.

Clint’s rumpled form beside him just gives a half-awake hum and Bucky pats where he imagines Clint’s ankle to be.

Bucky drifts off to sleep, content and warm.


	5. Chapter 5

An hour into practice, Bucky’s quads already ache and he has red Gatorade spilled all down the front of his practice jersey. As he sprints across the grass at Tony and Rhodey’s heels, he glances over at Steve, who gives Bucky a thumbs up. Bucky tries to focus and match Steve’s stride, but Steve just speeds up, throwing a grin over his shoulder. Bucky flips him off. As Steve passes Sam, Bucky thinks he hears Steve’s fake-polite “On your left,” and sees Sam sock him hard in the shoulder.

Good, Bucky thinks. Steve deserves it, especially after the Stark-esque smirk he gave Bucky this morning after he woke up tangled in the same blanket as a very drooly, very rumpled Clint Barton.

Bucky shakes the thought away and tries to focus again.

Hill is still barking orders from the front of the pack (she always runs with the team, Steve told Bucky this morning), but they finally stop at the edge of the dirt. Bucky paces slowly with his hands on his head, chest heaving. Bucky has a split second to react before Clint comes up from behind and hip checks him, hard. Bucky staggers and almost goes down, but Clint grabs his elbows just in time and reels him in to press Bucky’s cheek to his chest, which is shaking with laughter.

Bucky shoves at him ineffectually, but he feels the corner of his mouth curve up involuntarily. Clint is an ass, and Bucky informs him of that.

Tony approaches them, fanning himself with his baseball cap as his eyebrows drift up at the sight of Clint and Bucky’s artless embrace.

“Bad day, fellas?” Tony quirks his eyebrow like a question mark, uncapping his water bottle and taking a long drink.

Bucky grunts and disentangles himself from his assailant. “No, just an exceptionally awful teammate.”

Clint pats Bucky’s arm and smirks at Tony. “Why, Stark? You need a hug too? Steve not fulfilling your needs?”

Much to Bucky’s amusement, Tony does a full-on spit take, looking wildly around to make sure Steve isn’t listening. Satisfied at seeing Steve talking quietly with Hill and Fury a few yards away, Tony chucks his water bottle at Clint, but the throw goes wide. Bucky catches it one-handed, takes a drink, and hands the bottle to Clint, who takes it without looking and drains it. Clint throws the bottle back, knocking Tony in the forehead. Tony scowls and rubs at the resulting red mark, looking from Bucky to Clint and back again.

“Okay, wonder twins. I think you’re getting way too chummy,” Tony says before wandering off to pester Rhodey, probably.

As the sun climbs higher in the sky, Bucky is glad all over again that the metal arm came with internal temperature regulation, and so, it seems, is Clint. Instead of feeling like a hot seatbelt in the sun, the metal is cool to the touch, and Clint keeps running up periodically to press his sweaty forehead against the cool surface. Bucky should probably be annoyed.

He's not.

The team breaks off into focus groups after Hill’s unreasonably long calisthenics routine, so Fury sends Clint and Bucky off to the bullpen to run through pitches and signals.

Bucky dons his catcher gear for the first time this season and notices Clint looking at him just a little too long when he reappears from the clubhouse. Bucky is a good friend, though, so he doesn’t comment, but the pink tinge to Clint’s cheeks when Bucky catches him looking is something he files away to think about later.

As they rotate through pitches, Bucky fully catches on that he and Clint are absolutely on the same wavelength about pitches and plays just like they are with terrorizing their teammates. They decide not to waste any time on signals, which is completely new for Bucky. He kind of loves not having to silently argue across the plate every third pitch.

“Why aren’t you using signals?” Coulson says, leaning on the chain-link fence midway between Clint and Bucky.

Bucky almost jumps out of his skin, immediately pulling up his mask. The guy appeared out of fucking nowhere, honestly.

Clint turns to Coulson, rolling the ball against his hip as if he’s used to Coulson’s sudden and uncanny appearances. He looks at Bucky and shrugs.

“Don’t need ‘em.”

Coulson frowns. “That won’t go over well with Fury,” he says, opening the gate and stepping inside the bullpen with his briefcase in tow.

“Like I don’t know that,” Clint scoffs. “What are you really here for, Dr. Phil?”

Bucky smirks. Coulson doesn’t take the bait, though, opting to balance his briefcase on the low cinderblock wall on the opposite side of the bullpen. Bucky gives up his crouched position, sitting back in the patchy grass and stretching his legs out in front of him. Clint follows suit, crossing his legs under him and settling near Bucky’s feet.

Coulson takes out a plain-looking black agenda, turning around and blinking at them, which Bucky instantly understands to be the Coulson equivalent of a headache-inducing eyeroll.

“Did you get a chance to read through your red folders this weekend?”

Clint begins ripping at the grass. “Doesn’t know when to quit, doesn’t take correction, yada yada yada,” he rattles off. “Nothing I haven’t heard before.”

Bucky just nods. His evaluation was much of what he expected as well: not trusting of teammates, lone wolf, et fucking cetera. Bucky promised Steve he would try to be better coming into this new team, and he’s finding it easier than he ever expected with Clint as his batterymate.

“Good. I’ve got you both in for a joint session tomorrow morning,” Coulson says, already scrawling in the agenda.

Clint grins wickedly at Bucky and mimes smoking a joint. Bucky smirks back. Coulson pretends not to notice, snapping his briefcase closed and nodding his goodbye.

Clint removes his cap and slumps over, sprawling across Bucky’s legs and resting his head on Bucky’s knee.

“I’m so hungry,” Clint groans. “When’s lunch?”

Bucky pats Clint’s head, hand lingering to smooth down his tangled hair.

As if on cue, Thor smacks his bat loudly against the chain link fence twice, startling Bucky and Clint to turn around.

“Sandwiches in ten minutes,” Thor says, with an honest to God twinkle in his eye.

And, of course, Steve himself is standing shoulder to shoulder with the monstrosity that is Thor, directing another meaningful smirk at Bucky, pointedly eyeing Clint’s position draped over his legs.

Bucky scowls at Steve, moving to stand back up as Clint is already scrambling up at the mention of sandwiches.

They head into the clubhouse for a raucous meal with the team. Bucky shucks off most of his gear with Clint’s help to speed things along because he’s _hungry_ , damn it.

As Bucky watches Clint happily shove chips in his mouth, he hides his smile behind the edge of his cup of Mountain Dew and thinks that being a better teammate this year may not turn out to be so bad after all.


	6. Chapter 6

Bucky is cold again.

It’s a lukewarm sixty degrees out this morning, but Bucky catches himself shivering as the door slams behind him and he shuffles after Clint down the long, carpeted hallway to Coulson’s office. They stayed up too late again playing Guitar Hero--Steve had given them a Disapproving Look and everything, but they carried on late into the night undeterred.

Bucky would regret it except for the fact that he got to stay the night sharing Clint’s blanket on the couch again. They didn’t even pretend it was an accident this time, both of them waking up all warm and sleepy and comfortable.

Bucky and Clint had been mostly successful at staying on their respective ends of the couch with just their feet tangled, but Steve had still looked at Bucky pointedly over his orange juice as Bucky steadfastly ignored him.

Bucky doesn’t care what Steve thinks, except when he does. Also, can’t Bucky have a kind of snuggly friend without being read the riot act about a nonexistent romantic relationship? Sure, Bucky already had a perfectly good bed, but it's nice to have a friend to be so close with. Besides, Steve doesn’t have a leg to stand on regarding Bucky’s completely uninteresting love life due to his obvious crush on Stark accompanied by outrageous passive-aggressive flirting and lies about platonic friendship.

Bucky is too tired for Steve and his bullshit and decides right then that he's having none of it. He can be Clint’s snuggly friend and Steve can suck it.

Bucky sighs. He’s still cold and misses the couch. As he slouches down the hallway behind Clint, his eyes travel over yet another one of his signature purple shirts. Bucky figures Clint would agree with him about Steve’s bullshit and speeds up a bit to walk shoulder to shoulder with him down the hall.

Clint stops abruptly and whirls around, catching Bucky off guard. Bucky barely manages to stop himself before he crashes into him and opens his mouth to express his annoyance before seeing Clint’s sudden impish grin.

Bucky closes his mouth and waits to hear Clint’s next words. Whatever Clint has planned will probably end poorly, but Bucky's already convinced that the shit Clint gets them into will also be fun.

“How do you feel about terrorizing Coulson?” Clint asks, grinning like a loon.

Bucky’s mouth quirks up at the thought of getting a rise out of Coulson’s usually stoic self.

“Do you really have to ask? He totally deserves it,” Bucky says. He can’t help his accompanying grin.

Clint is visibly delighted, punching Bucky in the arm in excitement. Bucky lets him.

They stop walking, having arrived in front of the metal door with chipping red paint that's marked by an austere black name plate bearing the team psychologist’s name and certifications.

“Just follow my lead,” Clint says, winking at Bucky before schooling his face.

Bucky doesn’t have time to react before Clint grabs his metal hand, twists the doorknob, and drags him into Coulson’s office.

The only sign of surprise Coulson reveals is the brief flicker of his eyes down to where Clint and Bucky are holding hands.

Bucky adjusts their fingers to a more comfortable position. This could be interesting.

Coulson doesn’t comment on Clint’s abrupt entrance, which he's apparently accustomed to. He's sitting at his desk and seems to have been typing away into a spreadsheet on his ancient-looking desktop computer. He powers down the monitor and gestures for Bucky and Clint to sit in the two oversized chairs in front of his desk.

Instead of letting go of Bucky’s hand so that they can each sit in one of the chairs, Clint tugs him to the chair on the left and plops down, dragging Bucky with him and wedging him into the narrow space beside him so that their sides are pressed together. The chairs are not quite as big as loveseats and are still a bit cramped for two people, so Bucky lets go of Clint’s hand long enough to sling the metal arm around his shoulders instead. Clint happily settles into the extra space Bucky has created at his side.

Coulson blinks.

Bucky hides his smile with a light cough and Clint openly grins.

“You two seem awfully friendly,” Coulson says lightly, shuffling the papers on his desk.

“Yeah, we really hit it off,” Clint says.

Coulson clears his throat and smooths out the already pristine paper in front of him.

“All right, Barton. Since you've already read your assessments individually, the main thing Fury wanted me to discuss with you was how well you’re working together and any needs we should address in that area,” Coulson says. “So. How are things on the field with you two?”

Bucky takes a moment to consider.

“Well. He’s pitching, I’m catching. It’s going well,” Bucky says with a shrug.

That earns him a snort from Clint.

Coulson’s mouth turns down a fraction before resolving to just move on.

“Okay. Any fundamental strategic differences that show up should be reported immediately to me, Hill, or Fury,” Coulson says. “Now, what about off the field?”

Clint was bursting for him to ask, it seems, as the words come bubbling out of him.

“We’re sleeping together,” Clint says in a rush with a maniacal smile still plastered to his face.

Coulson just stares at them.

Bucky's a tiny bit shocked by Clint’s revelation and tries to keep a straight face, but technically, it’s true. They have spent the past couple nights sleeping on the same couch and sharing the same blanket when they absolutely had the choice to have separate beds.

As Coulson struggles to come up with a proper response, Bucky realizes that Coulson probably took the “sleeping” part figuratively and assumes they are fucking. The thought makes his neck heat up.

Bucky begins to wonder if they’ve broken Coulson’s brain before the man finally breaks the silence.

“So--sleeping? Like, you're sleeping in the same bed? Or--or do you mean you're dating?” Coulson falters.

“The first one." Bucky shifts, jostling Clint in the process.

Coulson appears to have gotten hold of himself and just nods with an air of disbelief.

“On Steve’s couch,” Clint adds helpfully.

Coulson narrows his eyes and studies Clint for a moment before giving up and checking the last checkbox and scribbling his name at the bottom of the page. He pushes the paper in Clint and Bucky’s direction and tosses down the pen before leaning back in his chair and scrubbing at his eyes.

“Sign at the bottom, please,” Coulson says through his fingers.

They both sign and leave Coulson to his misery, walking out of the office with arms around each other’s shoulders.

When the door snicks shut behind them, Clint turns his face up to Bucky’s and looks positively gleeful. With his face this close, Bucky can see the shadow cast by Clint’s eyelashes and a few light freckles scattered across his nose.

“I think we broke him,” Clint says cheerfully, patting Bucky’s sternum with his free hand.

Bucky agrees. He’s only a little proud. Bucky's not sure what other emotion is currently swirling around in his chest, but whatever it is makes him look at Clint’s mouth for too long and he suddenly needs to breathe--

Clint steps back as if reading Bucky’s mind and simply pats his arm like always.

Bucky and Clint troop back down the hallway towards the clubhouse to locate Thor. They’ve been meaning to get him to show them the hammer swing technique he uses for line drives. No one really knows what the swing really has to do with a hammer, but that’s what Thor calls it anyway.

Bucky smiles at the memory of Thor trying to explain the hammer swing with broad gestures and vivid descriptions. Bucky may be new to the team, but his chest feels like it's already expanding in size to accommodate how much he's beginning to care for his teammates.

Clint bumps his shoulder as they walk, and Bucky feels warm again.


	7. Chapter 7

Steve feels like a total stalker. He can’t stop watching Bucky and Clint.

Today is the season opener and it’s been a busy day at the baseball stadium: team meeting, practice, drills, the works. Steve has spent the entire day watching the two knuckleheads who live in his apartment and eat all his food act like a pair of oblivious idiots in love. Or in like, at least.

Steve decides he's been spending way too much time palling around with these guys, especially due to the fact that the team apartments  _still_ aren't ready.

Steve’s not even sure that Bucky and Clint are self-aware enough to realize that they're into each other, but he's one hundred percent certain that neither of them is aware of the other one’s feelings.

It’s cute and infuriating at the same time. Steve also feels kind of sorry for them.

Steve had first noticed their mutual fondness when Bucky and Clint started sleeping on the couch together. It started because they were “cold,” and then they just kept on after that. Steve was shocked at first because Bucky usually hesitates to get close with anyone, but he and Clint had been fast friends right from the start.

Steve suspects that Bucky took such a liking to Clint because Clint is mouthy as hell and Buck likes that in a guy. Bucky also has a thing about biceps and a strong competence kink, so yeah. Clint's a dead ringer.

Steve had finally cornered Bucky and asked him about it the other day, but Bucky had just glared at him and insisted that he and Clint are just friends (“He doesn’t like me like that, stay out of it, Stevie. Why don’t you go bother Tony instead?”).

But, here’s the thing: Steve has known Bucky forever and Clint just shy of forever, and this is definitely not “just friends” for either of them.

Steve is shaken out of his reverie by Tony slapping his ass with a towel.

Steve’s attention had been so captivated by Clint carefully putting Bucky’s hair up in a bun on the bench in front of Clint’s locker that he hadn’t noticed Tony sneaking up on him.

The rest of the team is scattered around the locker room in varying states of undress, going through pre-game routines and gearing up for the season opener. Tony, at least, has his uniform on, but he’s still in his sock feet and has a roll of black athletic tape in his hand, which he plaintively holds out to Steve.

Steve rolls his eyes and takes the tape, gesturing for Tony to sit down on the bench in front of him. Tony watches as Steve deftly, gently tapes up his elbow, and Steve freezes suddenly, remembering how he had literally just watched Clint and Bucky doing something eerily similar to what he and Tony are currently doing.

Steve’s cheeks begin to heat up. Are he and Tony like Clint and Bucky? He definitely would admit to liking Tony as more than a friend but has always assumed that Tony would never feel the same way.

Tony frowns. “Everything okay, Steve?”

Steve nods, finishes taping Tony’s elbow, and tears off the end of the tape with his teeth. He looks up to see Bucky, in full catcher’s gear except for the helmet and mask clamped under his arm, staring at him with the most smug look on his face that Steve thinks he’s ever seen on the man. Steve watches Bucky stroll out of the swinging doors after Clint. Jerk.

Steve looks back down at Tony in thought. Without thinking about it, his hand drifts up and he places the pad of his thumb on the downturned corner of Tony’s mouth. Tony's still watching him intently, and Steve begins to realize that Tony maybe, _maybe_ returns his feelings. But how is he supposed to find out without revealing his own feelings and ruining their friendship?

Steve has no time to think further on the subject because Hill comes in to harass the rest of the team into heading outside to stretch before the game. Tony hastens to shove his feet into his cleats and tie them, grabbing onto Steve’s bicep for balance, and Steve sighs internally. Maybe he and Tony are a tiny bit like Clint and Bucky. Oops.

They finally make it outside after Tony stops twice to re-tie his cleats before Steve finally gets annoyed and kneels down to do it for him.

Out on the grass, Hill is already leading the team through agility exercises as Fury inspects their uniforms to ensure they’re up to his standards.

Clint and Bucky are on the narrow strip of grass between the foul line and the gravel doing their own separate stretches with Dr. Banner. Steve watches as Bruce arranges Bucky in the proper position on the ground and demonstrates what Clint is supposed to do in the partner stretch, which seems to be laying over Bucky to use his body weight to stretch his bent knee up to his chest. Bucky is laughing and Clint, standing nearby with his hands on his hips, appears to be blushing a bit even though this should be a routine stretch for him.

Steve jumps when Sam elbows him in the ribs and smirks. “You gonna give Barton the shovel talk?”

Steve sighs. Sam is as damn perceptive as always. “No. I just hope they’ll be honest with themselves. I would hate for either of them to get hurt.”

Sam nods in understanding, and they continue to watch as Clint plasters himself to Bucky and copies Banner’s stretching technique. Bucky doesn't seem to be laughing anymore.

Sam’s eyes flick over to where Tony is stretching beside Rhodey. “So are you going to be honest with yourself and be a good example for your boys?”

Steve almost chokes. Sam always knows too much and it’s not fair.

“I don’t know,” Steve says finally.

Sam nods again. “You should.”

Steve knows.

Fury calls the team to the dugout as the announcer prepares to call out the starting lineup. Steve jogs to second base when his name is called and stands straight and still while an old man with white hair and large dark glasses sings the national anthem. Steve sees the old man say something to Bucky as he passes, and Bucky blushes and rolls his eyes before quickly putting his mask back down.

Steve glances at Sam, who shrugs from the outfield. Steve faces forward again and the game begins.

*****

As the game wears on, Steve is pleased with how well the team is working together so far. Fury hasn’t had to yell at anyone yet, which is a vast improvement from last year’s season opener, during which Fury had pulled Scott out of the game for dropping his entire glove with the ball in it during the second inning.

Clint's pitching and Bucky's calling of plays have not allowed any base hits through the third inning. Steve knows perfectly well how Bucky earned his nickname “the asset,” but Steve hasn’t played on a team with him in a few years. On the field, Bucky is cold, calculating, and brutally efficient. He makes the toughest plays without even blinking; case in point: there’s a fly ball in the bottom of the fifth that Steve's sure is going to fall behind the foul net at home plate, but Bucky rips off his helmet and mask and makes a ridiculous sliding catch and fires the ball to Steve to get the double play at second. Honestly, Steve is amazed to watch him all over again.

Steve also notes that Clint and Bucky are still refusing to use signals and are somehow communicating telepathically. He’s shocked that Fury hasn’t screamed at them and figures he’s waiting for Clint to mess up before he jerks him out of the game.

In the sixth inning, a batter hits a line drive past the tip of Rhodey’s glove that sends in two RBIs. Bucky rips off his mask and marches up to the mound, getting into Clint’s space. He doesn’t put his glove up to his face to hide what he’s saying and instead just narrows his eyes at Clint and stands there glaring at him.

Steve thinks Clint must be glaring back, and the whole team watches as Clint and Bucky stand on the pitcher’s mound glaring at each other for a few beats before Bucky lowers his mask and stalks back to home plate.

Steve glances around at his teammates because, really, what just happened? Natasha and Sam are doing nothing to hide a pair of knowing smirks while the general consensus of the rest of the team seems to be all raised eyebrows and confusion. There were absolutely no words spoken in the Bucky-Clint stalemate and an apparently intense conversation still seems to have taken place.

Steve will remember to interrogate Bucky about it later, but from what he can deduce, Clint's arm may be getting tired but he doesn't want to come out of the game yet.

Before the end of the game, Bucky attempts two more glaring sessions with Clint before Fury pulls him out of the game in the eighth inning. Clint is a fantastic pitcher, but he's only human and needs to stop before he hurts himself. He deflates a little but perks right back up when many of the fans stand to give Clint a proper round of applause. He grins and waves as Fury all but frog marches him off the field.

The Avengers end up winning the game six to two with Steve making the final hit, a hard crack that blazes between second and shortstop. The hit brings Thor home from third, but Peter is forced out at second, bringing the game to an end. Several of the team run up and slap Steve on the back before jogging back to the dugout, but as Tony approaches Steve with an absolutely beautiful grin on his face, Steve, with adrenaline pumping, can’t stand it anymore.

Steve tosses his batting helmet to the ground and reels Tony in by one of the belt loops of his stupid baseball pants (goodness, what Tony’s ass in baseball pants does to him). He plants a kiss square on Tony’s smile.

Steve hears a few whistles around him as Tony’s arms wrap around his neck and he kisses Steve back.

So, Tony does return Steve’s feelings. Confirmed.

They break apart and Steve slings an arm around Tony’s shoulders as they walk towards the dugout with silly smiles on their faces. As they approach, Steve sees Clint and Bucky openly staring at them. Steve makes eye contact with Bucky, raises his eyebrows, and silently challenges him to say anything before flicking his eyes in Clint's direction meaningfully.

Bucky’s cheeks color and he looks away.

There are few things that rival Steve’s obsession with Tony’s ass in baseball pants, but Steve will never get over Bucky blushing about Clint. He plans to make that happen with increasing frequency until they get their heads out of their asses.

Out of the love of Steve’s heart, of course.


	8. Chapter 8

**WXAV NEWS - ALBANY, NY**

“Good morning, Albany, and welcome to the Daily Bugle with J. Jonah Jameson. Top stories today include Stark Resilient’s green energy efforts in Albany City Schools spearheaded by CEO Pepper Potts, brand new attractions and concerts coming to the Berkshires this spring, and the pitcher-catcher dynamic duo for the Albany Avengers sealing the team’s first five wins of the season. Let’s get right down to it.

“The single-A Albany Avengers are known for their local charm and family-friendly baseball fun, but during the Avengers’ opening homestand, fans were in for a special treat. Newcomer James “Bucky” Barnes signed with the team this season as the starting catcher, joining fan favorite pitcher Clint Barton to make up the best battery the Avengers’ franchise has seen in years. The marvelous matchup of Barton and Barnes carried the team through the season opener, allowing only two runs during the game and bringing home the first win of the season.

“Thanks to Barnes’ exceptional ability to read the field, Barton’s impressive marksmanship, and a remarkably well-rounded offense and defense, the Avengers went on to win all five games of the opening homestand. The team will travel for their first set of away games in Portland, Maine this weekend. Albany wishes you the best of luck!

“And now to Ororo Munroe for the weather report.”

*****

Natasha is frowning at Clint again, and he doesn’t like it one bit.

Well, not really frowning, because if a random passerby saw her, Natasha’s face would be basically unreadable, but Clint knows a Natasha frown when he sees one.

Clint knows exactly why she's frowning, too, and he slumps impossibly lower in his chair across from her at their small table in the coffee shop near Steve’s apartment.

Natasha has kidnapped him from Steve, and Clint really shouldn’t be surprised. She thinks it’s her job to periodically kidnap Clint, interrogate him about his life, and frown at him. Clint knows she does it out of love, but damn, if she doesn’t pick the worst times to do it.

At least there’s coffee this time.

Natasha’s been watching Clint all week with that analyzing look of hers, especially when he’s with Bucky, which is pretty much all the time. Clint knows that Natasha can read him like a book and that he would have to face her at some point.

Over the past few days, Clint has come to terms with the fact that he’s been harboring some very real more-than-friends feelings towards Bucky. He arrived at this realization in the split second it took to artfully arrange some of Bucky’s hair that had escaped from his bun during practice one morning. They were getting ready to leave the locker room and Bucky had been giggling about some dumb thing Clint had said, but held still while Clint fixed his hair. Clint was hit like a punch in the gut with a barrage of thoughts: _soft, cute, precious, must protect._

Looking back, Clint should have caught on sooner based on his and Bucky’s weirdly handsy and snuggly relationship, but he’s never been good with feelings, so he gives himself a pass.

However, Clint is well aware of the fact that Natasha will absolutely not give him a pass. It’s obvious that Natasha caught on to Clint’s feelings long before he did.

So, in true Natasha fashion, she showed up at ass o'clock in the morning, all but pulled Clint out of his warm Bucky-nest on the couch and made him come get coffee with her.

Clint takes his straw between his teeth and draws up a long sip of his highly caffeinated caramel-something, still watching Natasha. He knows she’s waiting for him to spill, but Clint is not one to be out-stubborned.

The silence lasts all of two minutes, during which Natasha continues to calmly sip her coffee. Clint gets jittery, his foot tapping out a tattoo on the hardwood floor.

“I’m declining to speak first,” he finally says, sitting up and folding his arms.

Now, _there’s_ a real frown.

“Really, Barton? Okay. What I really want to know is when you’re planning on telling Barnes how you feel,” Natasha says, arching an eyebrow and leaning forward to place her elbows on the table and her chin on her fists.

Clint balks, feeling his cheeks heat up against his will. He expected this line of questioning, but it’s still disconcerting to hear out loud. Clint briefly considers pretending he didn’t hear her before remembering that his hearing aids are as visible and as purple as ever, and Natasha's not an idiot. Damn.

“Um,” Clint says intelligently.

Natasha deflates a little, leaning back in her chair.

“So you do like him, then.”

“Well, yeah,” Clint admits. He knows better than to lie to her.

“And are you going to do anything about it?” Natasha asks, picking up her coffee to take another sip.

Clint frowns. “I don’t think he feels that way about me. Besides, Steve--”

Natasha rolls her eyes so hard, it must give her a headache.

“Clinton Francis Barton, if you think Steve Rogers isn’t one thousand percent on board with you and Bucky being together, then you are the dumbest person I’ve ever met,” Natasha says, draining her coffee and tossing it into the nearby bin with a _thunk_ of finality. “You’ve been co-sleeping with him on Steve’s _couch_ , you ass.”

Clint is speechless for a moment and opts to slurp up the rest of the sugary mess at the bottom of his cup instead of speaking. Natasha watches him.

“All right,” Clint says finally, not committing to anything in particular, and Natasha's piercing stare feels like it's dressing him down to his bones. He squirms.

Natasha finally nods, seeming satisfied for the time being, and stands to leave. Just like that, the interrogation is over. Clint's not really surprised: he knows the topic of conversation is far from over, but Natasha has completed her information extraction for now.

Standing up from the table, Clint absentmindedly turns his plastic coffee cup over in his hands, attempting to read the messy scrawl of his name. He usually tells the barista his name is “Hawkeye,” --what’s the point of having a cool nickname if he never gets to use it?--and finally deciphers the closely packed letters just as the cup lands in the bin and he turns to follow Natasha out the door.

The cup says “Hawkguy.”

“Aw, coffee, no.”

*****

Fury has chartered one of those really nice buses for the trip to Portland, and Clint is shamelessly excited to get going on the trip. By the end of the season, traveling usually becomes a drag, but Clint thinks that with Bucky along, the boring parts may not be so unbearable anymore.

Packing up after Natasha’s morning kidnapping had been a production because his and Bucky’s belongings had somehow merged together in the past week. Clint and Bucky made a truly valiant effort to determine whose socks belonged to whom before Steve came out of his room threatening bodily harm if they didn’t shut up about toe seam colors.

If Clint’s socks are mismatched at any point, he's going to blame Steve.

The team loads their luggage and boards the bus, and really, there are plenty of seats for everyone to sit individually, but Clint and Bucky settle in side by side about two thirds of the way back. Clint sits at the window so he can look out and Bucky takes the aisle seat.

Steve brushes past Bucky, backpack zippers briefly scraping against his metal shoulder, before parking himself in the seat just behind them. Steve proceeds to press his knees into the back of their seats until Clint and Bucky both turn around to look at him.

Steve grins, waving at them and settling comfortably in his seat.

“Don’t hassle us, Rogers,” Bucky grumbles.

“No hassle here,” Steve says, holding up his hands innocently.

Tony appears in the aisle across from Steve. Clint rolls his eyes.

“This seat taken?” Tony asks with a lopsided grin.

“Not at all,” Steve beams, and Clint wants to throw up.

He and Bucky turn back around. Clint's a bit surprised when Bucky gently pushes Clint more towards the window and proceeds to arrange him the way he wants before flipping up the armrest up between them and sort of half-draping himself over Clint’s side, shuffling until he’s comfortable.

Just between him and the window, Clint blushes a tiny bit, and he firmly decides not to make eye contact with anyone on the bus until they arrive, or later. He can already feel Steve’s smirk boring through the seat and into the back of his head. If Clint wasn’t sure Steve knew about his feelings before, he is now.

Oh, well. Bucky is warm, and Clint digs out his pillow and blanket to really settle in for the ride.

Maine better be ready for the Barton-Barnes dynamic duo.


	9. Chapter 9

“Okay, okay,” Clint gasps, chest heaving with laughter. “Truth or dare?”

Bucky grins down at Clint, who’s eating Twizzlers and lounging in the footwell in front of his and Bucky’s seats on the bus. He hands one up to Bucky, who’s curled up on the seats, head propped up on his arm to watch Clint.

Bucky takes it and pushes his hair back behind his ears. “Truth.”

Clint goes quiet, eyes unfocused in thought.

Bucky shifts in his seat, knowing that he’s in a bit over his head here. The four and a half hour drive to Maine isn’t really that long, but Clint had insisted that Bucky play truth or dare with him to pass the time after they had napped for a while. Team building, he calls it.

Bucky, who’s a had a recent enlightenment regarding his feelings towards one Clint Barton, is mildly distressed by the idea of playing the game but goes along with it anyway because Clint pouts at him and Bucky’s a sucker.

Bucky knows exactly when he realized that his feelings for Clint run deeper than just friendship. At the end of a tough practice, the team had played a scrimmage with all their positions swapped (Coulson says it’s good for gaining perspective, but Bucky says it’s bullshit). Clint was playing third, and when Bucky smacked a long ball almost to the fence, Clint had chased him almost all the way to home plate before tackling him to the ground. Fury was, well, furious, but Clint cackled like an idiot and Bucky couldn’t help but laugh, rolling over to try to push Clint off of him and failing.

So, with Clint lying on top of him, grabbing his face and giggling about how adorable it is when Bucky scowls at him, Bucky had caught himself thinking that it might not be so bad to kiss the stupid grin right off the face of the human disaster pressing the breath out of him.

Since then, it’s been kind of impossible to stop thinking about kissing Clint, but Bucky tries his best. It almost broke Bucky’s brain when that old man who sang the national anthem told Bucky he should ask Clint to go steady with him.

Bucky hopes he’s not that obvious. That old man is crazy anyway.

Bucky knows that all of these very real, very valid reasons should have raised red flags when Clint suggested they play truth or dare, yet here they are.

Clint waves a Twizzler in Bucky’s face, his face lighting up when he finally decides on the most important truth he needs Bucky to reveal.

“Okay. Who on the team would you most like to make out with?” Clint asks, shifting on the floor to see Bucky better.

Bucky almost chokes. He knows damn well who he’d like to make out with, but he’s sure as hell not prepared to say that out loud right here on the bus.

Bucky stares for a moment before deciding on an adequate response.

“Tony,” Bucky says decisively, knowing that it will wind Clint up, and sure enough, he’s right.

Clint cracks up until he’s almost in tears, sitting up from the floor and leaning his forehead against the edge of the seat near Bucky’s elbow.

“What the fuck?! Why?” Clint demands after gaining some semblance of control of his mental faculties.

Bucky shrugs.

“He’s hot. I like the idea of the goatee, too.”

Clint shakes his head.

“You’re a piece of work, Barnes,” Clint says, leaning his head back on the seat behind him.

“I’ll say.”

Bucky almost jumps a mile before looking up to see Tony standing above them, looking over the seat and smirking.

Bucky scowls, trying and failing miserably not to blush, while Clint looks positively gleeful.

“Bucky says--”

Bucky was deflecting, but he’s still not too keen on Tony and Steve having this particular ammunition to mock him with, so Clint doesn’t get any further before Bucky firmly claps a hand over his mouth. Clint takes the opportunity to lick Bucky’s hand thoroughly, grabbing his wrist to hold his hand in place.

Completely outraged, Bucky rips his hand away, reaching down with his metal and flesh hands to grab Clint’s wrists and haul him halfway back onto the seat before remembering that Tony is watching.

And Steve, too, apparently. Bucky and Clint both freeze upon seeing Steve and Tony’s matching looks of amusement as they stand behind the seat with their backpacks on, watching the scene unfolding before them.

Bucky abruptly realizes that the bus has stopped.

Steve shakes his head.

“I don’t know if you boys noticed, but we’re here,” Steve says.

Bucky disentangles himself from Clint after hauling him the rest of the way into the seat, patting his hair in apology and making sure his hearing aids are still securely in place. Thankfully, Steve and Tony don’t comment further, but the smug looks on their faces do nothing to set Bucky’s mind at ease.

The team shuffles into the hotel after collecting their luggage in the cooling evening air. They all mill around in the lobby waiting for Hill to check in and distribute their key cards. Bucky knows it’s still kind of early, but he’s exhausted and ready to sleep.

Hill approaches the fake tree with distracting twinkle lights that Bucky and Clint have found themselves staring at. She pushes a set of plastic cards in a white paper sleeve into Bucky’s hand.

“You and Barton will be sharing,” Hill says, all business, before moving on to their teammates nearby.

Bucky decides he’s all right with this arrangement. It’s not like he and Clint haven’t been sharing the couch, and even though he’s caught feelings, it’s not like anything’s really changed between them. Bucky glances at Clint, who relaxes a little and briefly smiles at Bucky.

They take the elevator up to the ninth floor and Bucky slides the key card into the slot on the door, unlocking it and stepping inside. Clint follows closely behind, flipping on the lights.

There’s a huge TV, a coffee maker, a chair, a desk, and one bed.

Bucky panics a little. It occurs to him that sharing a bed shouldn’t be a big deal, but somehow it seems infinitely more daunting than sharing a couch. Bucky suspects that it’s his _feelings_ talking, so he swallows down the panic and drags his suitcase further into the room. Once inside, Clint drops his luggage and flops facedown onto the bed.

Bucky stares at the sliver of skin just above the waistband of Clint’s jeans revealed by his pushed-up shirt, at war with himself over whether offering to take the chair would make it weirder or not.

Not bothering to roll over, Clint pats the bed beside him in invitation. Bucky relaxes a little, moving to flop down beside Clint.

They stare at each other for a moment before Clint breaks the silence.

“Truth or dare?”

Bucky feels the corner of his mouth quirk up.

“Truth,” Bucky says again. Steve always gets Bucky into trouble with dares, so he’s learned that truth is almost always the better option.

“Is it too early to go to bed?” Clint asks sheepishly, rubbing his eyes.

Bucky laughs, surprised and relieved at the same time.

They change into their sleep clothes and settle back into the bed. Clint slips out his hearing aids and then kicks and kicks until the bed sheets aren’t tucked in so tightly. He tells Bucky he can’t stand not being able to stick his feet out, and Bucky struggles not to find it adorable.

Bucky rolls over to face the wall and reaches over to flick the lights off. After a beat of silence, he feels Clint shuffling closer to him and freezes as Clint plasters himself to Bucky’s back and _spoons_ him, slinging an arm around his waist and everything.

Bucky has never blushed so hard in his life. He’s glad the lights are off and Clint can’t see him.

Clint shakes him a little, trying to arrange Bucky into a more comfortable position.

“Relax, Barnes, let me be the big spoon. This is way nicer than our couch,” Clint says into his ear a little too loudly.

Bucky shivers and decides, what the hell. Clint is warm and soft and nice, and if he wants to snuggle, so be it. Bucky pats the arm that is wrapped around his middle and breathes deeply.

As he feels himself edging closer to sleep, Bucky thinks helplessly that his soft spot for Clint Barton has grown wildly out of control. He decides that he doesn’t care and then falls fast asleep with Clint’s warmth pressing into his skin and into his heart.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This fic is completely self-indulgent nonsense, so I hope you like tooth-rotting fluff!
> 
> Thank you to all who read, leave kudos, and comment!!!!! You are lovely and make me smile so much!


	10. Chapter 10

Clint wakes up slowly, cocooned in warmth. He hums and tries to roll over, but is stopped by the arms firmly wrapped around him.

Puzzled, Clint opens his eyes, blinking sleep away to see Bucky’s throat a few inches away from his face.

Oh.

Clint tries not to freeze up as he comes to grips with the reality of the position he’s currently in. Bucky’s got Clint nestled in close to his chest with Clint’s head tucked under his chin. Clint can’t help but be a little bit pleased with himself that overnight, Bucky has gone from nervously keeping to his side of the bed and barely allowing Clint to touch him to clinging to him like a limpet.

Clint closes his eyes again and decides to enjoy this while it lasts. He hopes Bucky doesn’t freak out when he wakes up, but after their game of truth or dare yesterday, Clint’s not sure what to think anymore. He should have known better than to expect that one: Bucky would admit to wanting to kiss Clint to his face, and two: Bucky would actually want to kiss him at all.

Bucky shifts, making a low sound in his throat and jolting Clint out of his musings. Clint jumps when a hand slowly begins sliding down his back, thankfully stopping before getting to Clint’s ass.

Clint almost swallows his tongue when Bucky’s hand makes its way around to Clint’s front, traveling up, up, up his torso and finding a home on Clint’s neck. If for nothing else than something to hold on to, Clint plants a hand on Bucky’s ribcage as he feels Bucky tilt his head up.

As Clint’s eyes become level with Bucky’s still-closed eyelids, Clint is suddenly reminded that Bucky is _asleep_ , and it dawns on him that Bucky’s trying to _kiss_ him. Clint doesn’t want that, not like this, with Bucky asleep and unaware that he’s kissing Clint and not whoever he’s dreaming about.

That’s why Clint ends up flailing violently and falling out of bed and into the floor in a heap of blankets.

Bucky jerks awake, sitting up and looking around wildly. Clint waves at him sheepishly from the floor as Bucky stares.

Bucky finally clears his throat. “I--”

Clint can’t decide if he’s relieved or disappointed when the door clicks open and Steve and Tony walk right into their hotel room without so much as a knock.

Bucky’s eyes flicker to Clint like he’s remembering something and he stands abruptly, grabbing Clint’s hearing aids off the nightstand and handing them to him.

Clint slips the hearing aids in, smiling at Bucky in thanks and fighting off a wave of affection as Bucky returns to his spot on the bed.

Steve stops at the foot of the bed, raising his eyebrows and looking back and forth between Bucky and Clint. Tony, the asshole, sprawls in the empty chair beside the bed, giving the whole room a critical once-over.

“Did they really only give you one bed?” Tony asks, uncapping a pen and idly beginning to draw on the promotional notepad he picks up from the nightstand. “I thought there was some obscure law written that says all hotel rooms must have two beds except for honeymoon suites.”

Clint glares at him and ignores the obvious answer to the original question.

“Okay, so I also have some questions,” Clint says from the floor. “The first being: why the hell are you in our room right now?”

“Well, for me personally, I wanted to check to see if you two--” Tony is prevented from finishing that line of reasoning by Bucky absolutely nailing Tony in the stomach with a nearby pillow.

Tony wheezes before falling silent.

Steve has the consideration to look at least a little bit guilty even though Clint knows Steve's a shit-stirrer to the very core of his being and probably planned their visit in the first place.

“We got an extra key from Hill and wanted to make sure you got up in time,” Steve says, shrugging.

Bucky snorts and rolls his eyes.

“Sure, Stevie.”

Clint continues glaring even though most of the heat of it is stolen by the blankets still wrapped around him as he stands up, shuffling over to the coffee maker.

“It’s too early for this shit,” Clint mutters.

“You’re telling me,” Bucky agrees, shaking his head.

Tony sets down the notepad and pen and stands to leave, smirking at Clint as he walks past Steve and makes sure to get a good handful of ass. Steve doesn’t say anything, but there's a definite blush creeping up his neck.

Clint wrinkles his nose. He can’t decide if their flirtatious antics are less or more bearable now that Tony and Steve are together.

Bucky seems to share the same sentiment, chucking another pillow at Tony’s head and scowling.

Steve stares at them, unimpressed.

“Come down to breakfast as soon as you can,” Steve says as if he’s not just broken into their hotel room and terrorized them. “The bus is leaving at nine for practice.”

As the door clicks shut behind Steve, Clint busies himself with making coffee, getting ready, and packing up for the day. He hears Bucky turn the shower on, and as he goes to the nightstand to unplug his phone, he notices Tony’s doodles on the notepad he left there.

It’s a poorly drawn sketch of two people, obviously meant to be Clint and Bucky based on the hairstyles, holding hands and smiling. Underneath, Tony has written, “GET A MOVE ON, BARTON.”

Clint sighs, ripping off the paper, crumpling it, and tossing it in the trash.

Tony’s an ass, but yeah. That’s the idea.

*****

Clint never gets to find out whether Bucky knows he tried to kiss him or not because the day is slam-packed leading up to the game.

By the time Clint throws the first strikeout in the bottom of the first inning, he’s all but forgotten to ask, not that he would even know how to phrase the question. As he and Bucky went through their very hands-on stretching routine together before the game, Clint tried not to think about how good it felt to have Bucky pin him down during the leg stretches and how much he’d like to feel Bucky up in a non-baseball related context.

Instead, they flirt and banter like always, avoiding any mention of the events of the morning.

For his first away game of the season, Clint is throwing spectacularly well, the team in high spirits and up 4-0 in the top of the fifth when Bucky comes up to bat.

Clint watches with mild interest as three balls are thrown and he waits for Bucky to be walked.

But that doesn’t happen. Out of nowhere, the fourth pitch goes wide and Bucky’s a fraction of a second too late to move out of the way before the ball hits him hard, just above his knee, sending him to the ground.

Before he realizes what he’s doing, Clint finds himself halfway between the dugout and home plate, making a beeline for Bucky. By the time he gets there, Fury and Banner are on his heels and shouting for him to come back, but Clint ignores them.

Clint drops to his knees, ripping off Bucky’s batting helmet, rolling him over and grabbing his chin.

“Buck! Bucky. Are you okay?” Clint demands, needing Bucky to meet his eyes, which he finally does.

“Yeah, I’m okay, I think,” Bucky says. “Just--”

Bucky tries to sit up and suddenly Banner is there on Bucky’s other side, pushing him back down. Fury stands over them, watching but saying nothing.

“Barnes, talk to me,” Bruce says, carefully examining and briefly touching Bucky’s knee.

Bucky grimaces.

“I don’t think it’s that bad, just let me try to move it,” Bucky grits out.

Clint watches intently as Bucky does, in fact, move the knee successfully.

Bruce checks Bucky’s knee out for another minute before standing back up and wiping dirt on his pants.

“It’s definitely going to be a deep bruise,” Bruce says, turning to Fury. “I say we at least put a courtesy runner in for now and ice it.”

Fury nods, he and Clint each taking one of Bucky’s hands and hauling him up carefully. They hear scattered applause from the crowd as they walk Bucky off the field.

After they get back into the dugout, Clint practically glues himself to Bucky’s side as he ices his knee. Fury watches them for a moment and decides to pull another catcher and pitcher from the bullpen for the rest of the game. The Avengers end up winning by a run.

The team returns to the dugout and packs up, asking how Bucky's leg is doing, and Clint and Bucky stay put until everyone's cleared out.

Clint is suddenly made aware of his and Bucky's proximity when Bucky turns to look at him with a lopsided grin on his face.

“You looked pretty worried out there, ace,” Bucky says.

Clint feels his cheeks heat up.

“Yeah, well, you’re dead to me if you get hurt and can’t catch for me,” Clint says, looking away and trying to make a joke of it.

Clint’s a little stunned when Bucky slings the metal arm around his neck, reels him in, and plants a kiss on his cheek.

Clint’s got a full-on blush as Bucky slowly stands to collect his gear and heads in the direction of the clubhouse with a damn smirk on his face.

As he trails after Bucky in silence, Clint still feels like he could melt into a puddle and resolves that in whatever game he and Bucky have been playing, he’s going to even the score, and soon.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Boy this chapter got away from me quick.
> 
> Thank you for reading!!!


	11. Chapter 11

Bucky walks behind Clint towards the waiting bus, his knee still hurting like hell, but he’s walking all right and usually heals quickly. He’s been unable to wipe the stupid smile off his face leftover from kissing Clint on the cheek in the dugout. Bucky had felt Clint watching him as he packed up in the locker room, but Clint had looked away every time Bucky glanced over.

The whole thing is kind of adorable.

Bucky and Clint queue up with the rest of the team waiting to load their gear bags under the bus when Clint suddenly drops his bag, grabbing at his left ear and wincing. Bucky frowns, moving closer immediately.

“Hey, you okay?”

Clint looks up midway through slipping both hearing aids out.

“Yeah,” Clint says, a little too loud. “Just getting some major feedback.”

Tony appears next to Clint, looking concerned and holding his hand out for Clint’s hearing aids.

“Need me to recalibrate them tonight?” Tony asks, already fiddling with the aids and making sure to speak clearly so that Clint can read his lips.

Clint nods, smiling tiredly at Tony in appreciation. Bucky’s a bit surprised by the ease with which Clint trusts Tony with such a fundamental part of his life. To be fair, Bucky has not had the current iteration of his metal arm for that long, but he still harbors major trust issues with people fixing and, in increasingly rare cases, even touching his arm.

Bucky follows Clint to their seats on the bus, still thinking about Clint’s hearing aids and his arm. He drops into the seat beside Clint just as the door of the bus closes and all the overhead lights turn off, leaving the two narrow light strips on either side of the aisle floor as the only source of blue-tinted dim light.

Bucky sighs and settles back into his seat, Clint’s body a warm, comforting pressure at his side.

“I feel like we didn’t even do that much, but I’m exhausted,” Bucky says, rolling his head to the side to look at Clint.

“Can’t hear you,” Clint mumbles, turning fully to face Bucky, their faces a few inches apart so that Clint can read Bucky’s lips in the dim light.

“I said: I feel like we didn’t even do that much, but I’m exhausted,” Bucky says again, watching Clint stare at his mouth and feeling weirdly warm.

The corner of Clint’s mouth ticks up for a second, but he doesn’t stop looking at Bucky’s mouth. Bucky goes absolutely still as Clint inches closer to him. He can feel Clint’s breath on his lips and his heart rate kicks up into a wild, skittering rhythm as Clint’s eyelids flutter closed.

Someone knocks roughly into the back of Bucky’s seat, shaking them out of the quiet moment, and Clint backs away, wide-eyed and staring.

Fuck.

“Sorry, Barnes,” Sam calls from behind them. “Can’t get comfortable.”

Bucky mouths the word “Sam” at Clint, rolling his eyes.

“I hate you,” he says out loud.

Bucky and Clint spend the rest of the ride back to the hotel in resolute silence. Bucky had been hoping that after making his intentions pretty clear with his earlier smooching in the dugout, Clint would have caught on, but damn it all if Wilson doesn’t swoop in and ruin it just when things are getting interesting.

Bucky’s not sure he can deal with the awkwardness of sharing a bed with Clint if _something_ doesn’t happen soon. He feels like they’re on some sort of precipice and he’s going to have to take desperate measures in some fashion or another very soon.

The bus finally pulls in to the hotel, and the team piles out, some heading to the bar and some taking the elevators up to their respective rooms. Clint and Bucky wordlessly take the latter option, riding the elevator up to their apparently public sleeping quarters (damn you, Rogers).

Clint unlocks the door and Bucky follows him into their room, making sure to turn around and flip the extra metal lock closed to prevent a repeat Stark-Rogers breaking and entering fiasco in the morning.

Bucky turns back around, meeting Clint’s eyes where he’s standing at the foot of the bed and is stopped in his tracks by Clint’s clear-eyed, determined stare. Clint drops his bags and advances on him, backing Bucky up against the door. Bucky drops everything he’s holding, tentatively placing his hands on Clint’s ribcage as Clint traps Bucky with his arms on either side of his shoulders.

Clint’s looking a little unhinged, his eyes dark as they flicker from Bucky’s eyes to his mouth and back again. Clint’s a couple inches shorter than Bucky, but Bucky thinks that doesn’t make a damn bit of difference since Clint could probably pin him there with the look in his eyes alone.

“Why did you kiss me?” Clint demands.

Bucky shivers, feeling Clint’s breath on his neck.

“You know why,” Bucky says loud enough for Clint to hear even without the hearing aids, glancing away as his cheeks heat a little.

Clint is silent for a moment. Bucky’s eyes flicker back to his.

“Yeah, I do,” Clint says quietly before leaning in.

Clint kisses like he plays baseball: determined and just confident enough to turn Bucky’s legs to jelly. It starts out as a warm press of lips before Clint slots their mouths together properly. Bucky sighs into Clint’s mouth, wrapping his arms fully around Clint to bring them closer together.

Bucky can feel the shape of Clint’s smug grin at Bucky’s responsiveness against his mouth, and that’s quite enough of that. Bucky picks Clint right up off the floor, hitching Clint’s legs around his hips.

Clint makes a surprised sound, breaking the kiss to look down at Bucky breathlessly, and Bucky can’t help the swell of affection that bubbles up in his chest.

“Your knee--”

“‘S fine,” Bucky grunts, walking them over to the bed and tossing Clint down on it gracelessly.

Bucky clambers onto the bed, only taking a second to adjust for his bruised knee. He pins Clint down, pressing their bodies together, and finds his lips again. Bucky’s teeth scrape against Clint’s bottom lip as he thoroughly steals the smug grin from Clint’s face. Clint’s arms wind their way around Bucky’s neck and Bucky’s not quite sure he’s had this many _feelings_ for one person before.

Bucky’s starting to feel light-headed, so he breaks the kiss and presses his forehead to Clint’s, breathing heavily.

Clint stares at him for a beat and starts laughing, throwing his head back into the pillows. Bucky balks for a second but can’t help the corner of his mouth lifting up.

“What’s so funny?” Bucky says, bracketing his elbows on either side of Clint’s head.

“We’re idiots,” Clint says through bouts of laughter. “We could have been doing this the whole time.”

Bucky’s chest feels warm and he drops his head to Clint’s collarbone. Clint works his fingers into Bucky’s hair and scratches.

“Yeah, we’re idiots,” Bucky agrees, leaning into the touch.

Clint sighs happily and continues to pet Bucky’s hair.

Bucky’s heart feels light and if he kisses up Clint’s neck and leaves love bites just to hear his sighs and giggles, who’s to know?


	12. Chapter 12

Warm sunlight is spilling through a gap in the curtains right onto Clint’s closed left eyelid, which he finally blinks open as he shifts his face out of the sun. His movement is constricted since he’s half pinned down by a very heavy, very sleepy Bucky Barnes, who happens to be drooling all over Clint’s purple sleep shirt as they lay under the rumpled comforter on their hotel bed.

Clint bites his bottom lip to contain his grin and leans down to kiss Bucky’s forehead. Bucky hums, leaning up into the touch, and Clint’s heart swells.

Clint’s still having a little bit of trouble believing that this is his real life right now until there’s a clatter at the door and Clint thinks he distantly hears “Aw, fuck” as the door is forced back mostly closed by the metal latch.

Patting at Bucky’s shoulder until he rolls off of him, Clint sits up and narrows his eyes at the door. When it cracks back open, Clint sees Tony smirking at him through the small opening between the door and the doorframe. Clint also sees Steve appear just behind Tony, standing on his tiptoes to look over Tony’s head and into the room.

Clint rolls his eyes, but sighs and gets up to let his idiot friends in the room. After all, Tony probably has his hearing aids all fixed. Clint loves him, really.

He flips the metal latch open and Tony and Steve step inside. Tony holds Clint’s hearing aids out to him, and Clint slips them in, the sounds around him coming back into focus like he’s just resurfaced after being underwater.

Clint knows he takes Tony's ability to fix his his hearing aids for granted sometimes, so he grabs Tony’s face in his hands.

“Thank you. Also, you’re an ass for trying to break in here again. But I still love you,” Clint says.

Tony smiles, patting Clint’s hands, which are still squeezing his cheeks. His eyes flicker down to Clint’s chest and widen a fraction.

“There’s drool on your shirt. And--is that a love bite?!” Tony says a split second before Steve seems to have a moment of intense realization, looking wildly between Clint and Bucky.

Steve’s face breaks into a grin.

Bucky puts his hands up in an attempt to placate Steve and starts speaking in a rush.

“Don’t make it weird, Stevie, we just got together--”

“But my best friend finally got with his best guy!” Steve says before tackling Bucky, wrestling him to the bed and punching him in the arm for good measure.

Clint sees that Bucky’s still smiling from under his best friend’s congratulatory attack, so it’s all good. Clint rubs at the back of his neck, glancing back at Tony, who’s looking unbearably smug.

“So d'you think you'll go with Barnes-Barton or Barton-Barnes?”

Clint kicks Steve and Tony out of their room after that and sneaks back under the covers where Bucky’s still looking a little traumatized, smiling at Clint sheepishly.

“Our friends are ridiculous,” Bucky says, wrapping his arms around Clint and dragging him back against the warmth of his chest.

“Yeah, but would they be our friends if they weren’t?” Clint says, pressing a kiss to the corner of Bucky’s smile and burying his face in his neck.

*****

The team responds to Clint and Bucky’s relationship as well as Clint could have expected. In fact, their teammates almost don’t react at all even though Clint and Bucky have been participating in all sorts of outrageously mushy activities like holding hands and whispering.

Over the course of a week, the situation has escalated to where Clint insists that Bucky has to give him a kiss for luck before every at-bat, and Bucky calls him “doll” in public.

When Clint makes a comment to Bucky about the lack of any sort of reaction from the team one night after a game, Sam overhears and fixes him with an unimpressed stare.

“Really? You’ve been doing Barnes’ hair before every game and having secret heart eyes behind each others’ backs for weeks. This isn’t that different,” Sam says, slinging his bag over his shoulder and shaking his head as he walks away.

Clint stares after him before glancing back at Bucky, who shrugs and nods in agreement after a moment.

Fury eventually announces to the team after a particularly exhausting practice that their apartments are finally move-in ready.

Clint’s heart sinks at the thought of not bunking with Bucky anymore. They’ve both still been staying at Steve’s, who had pestered them to death about their sleeping arrangements until they’d agreed to move from sharing the couch to sharing the guest bed. Clint doesn’t like the idea of sleeping alone, but keeps quiet because he doesn’t want to make it weird if Bucky doesn’t feel the same way. He also suspects that Steve is planning to move in with Tony as soon as Clint and Bucky move out, so Clint definitely doesn’t want to be in the way of that, either.

Clint and Bucky haul a bunch of empty boxes from the grocery store to Steve’s apartment. Natasha tags along to help them because, as she puts it, Clint is hopeless.

In the corner of the living room, Clint is carefully packing up the small amount of archery equipment he uses during the off-season when he teaches classes at the YMCA. He's feeling truly pathetic when Bucky sneaks up behind him and winds his arms around Clint’s stomach from behind, resting his chin on Clint’s shoulder.

“I don’t want to stop living with you,” Bucky whispers, low enough that only Clint can hear since Nat is in the other room playing packing Tetris with Bucky’s surprising amount of books.

Clint turns around, slipping his fingertips into Bucky’s hair and looking him in the eye.

“I don’t want to live without you either,” Clint says, watching a slow smile spread across Bucky’s face.

Clint pulls him in, pressing their lips together in a sweet kiss. Clint feels Bucky slide a warm hand around the back of his neck and feels the metal hand pressing into small of his back, holding him in place as Bucky takes control of the kiss, licking Clint’s mouth open and tracing the edge of his teeth with the tip of his tongue until Clint has to cling to Bucky’s shoulders so that his legs don’t give out.

Clint hears Natasha cough from the doorway of the guest room, and they break apart after a beat, Bucky smirking at the blush that Clint can feel creeping all the way down his neck.

“You two can either stop or I can have you collected,” Natasha says breezily, picking up another box from the pile and returning to the guest room.

Natasha’s not one for expressing emotions, but Clint could see the tiny quirk of her mouth before she left the room, an obvious tell that she’s happy for him.

Clint and Bucky move in together, and Clint’s heart has never felt so full.

Over the course of the season, the team goes undefeated and wins the playoffs in the post-season. Hawkeye and the asset continue to be the centerpiece of stories in the news for their individual skills and uncanny on-field communication. The team’s picture is featured on the front page of the local newspaper when they win the league championship, featuring Clint and Bucky sharing a kiss standing on the grass halfway between home plate and the pitcher’s mound as their cheering teammates rush the field around them.

Their relationship is not always smooth sailing, and as Coulson’s pre-season assessments indicated, Clint and Bucky are deeply flawed human beings. It takes time and practice, but they help each other grow as people and as teammates. Clint learns to listen when Bucky tells him to take a break from pitching, most of the time, and Clint’s heart swells with pride as he watches Bucky become more trusting of his team as they consistently have his back time and time again in tough situations.

In your face, Coulson.

At the end of baseball season, Clint usually feels empty, but with Bucky at his side as they pack up and leave the locker room for the last time of the season, Clint only feels hopeful. Bucky bumps his shoulder with his own as they leave, and Clint feels warm all over.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, this isn't quite the end because I can't resist a timestamp. Chapter count has been increased to my own volleyball jersey number of 13.
> 
> Thank you for reading!!!


	13. Chapter 13

**// two years later //**

Bucky proposes to Clint one night in the middle of winter.

Snow crunches beneath Bucky’s heavy boots as he and Clint make a lap around the neighborhood, the dog they recently adopted dragging Bucky along by his lead as Clint laughs and jogs to keep up. They found Lucky on the doorstep of a dumpster fire of a pizza place owned by some asshole in a tracksuit who lives down the street and decided to keep him.

Bucky’s neck feels colder than usual--he’s still not used to the shorter haircut Clint gave him a couple weeks ago when Bucky got sick and tired of trying to get the knots out. Clint likes to run his fingers through the newly clipped strands, so that’s a definite plus.

By the time they circle back around to their apartment, Bucky and Clint are both breathless and pink-cheeked. Lucky collapses in a snowbank and Clint cackles, squinting his eyes and throwing his head back.

Bucky’s breath leaves him as if something’s been dropped on his chest as he watches Clint dissolve into a fit of giggles.

Damn, he loves this idiot. _His_ idiot.

Before he processes the thought completely, Bucky finds himself down on one knee. Clint stops laughing and stares at Bucky, his eyes wide and bright. Bucky digs deep in his pocket with the hand not holding Lucky’s lead for the ring he bought a year ago, right after Tony and Steve got married, and has kept on his person for the past few months, waiting for the right moment.

Bucky’s been completely gone for Clint for ages, so as he extracts the ring from his pocket and holds it out to Clint, he tells him exactly that.

“I’ve been in love with you for a long time,” Bucky says, shifting his weight nervously and staring at the ring, “and a future with you is the only thing that can make me happier than I am now.”

Bucky stops talking before the lump in his throat constricts his speech, because his chest is so full of _feelings_ he has for Clint, but when he looks up to gauge Clint’s reaction, he doesn’t feel so bad.

Clint’s eyes are unmistakably watery, and he reaches into his own pocket and comes up with a black silicone ring, gesturing at Bucky’s metal hand.

“I knew a metal ring wouldn’t work, so I--”

“I fuckin’ love you,” Bucky says.

They swap rings and Bucky hauls Clint into a kiss that’s all teeth because they can’t stop grinning. Clint’s freezing cold nose presses into Bucky’s cheek as Lucky barks at the tail lights of a passing car, but Bucky wouldn’t have it any other way.

*****

Bucky and Clint get married at the baseball stadium in early spring, the whole wedding party on the field and a weepy crowd in the stands.

Bucky finds out from Tony that Rhodey got ordained when they were at MIT together. Long story, Tony says. Rhodey ends up officiating the wedding wearing his uniform from his time in the Air Force.

Steve, as Bucky’s best man, has tears leaking out of his eyes through the whole ceremony. Bucky tries not to look at him for too long or else he’ll start crying, too.

He does anyway, when he sees Clint.

Bucky glances over at Natasha, Clint’s “best woman” as he calls her, whose lips are curved in a small smile. She’d helped Bucky fix his hair this morning as he’s still not sure how to properly style the shorter cut he’d kept through the end of the winter.

Lucky does improbably well as the ring bearer, and Tony only has to run after him for about ten feet before getting him back on track.

The team and crowd cheer as Bucky dips Clint to kiss him, unable to resist a dramatic display. Clint laughs against his mouth and Bucky’s so in love he can’t stand it.

The next day, Bucky reads in the paper about how Clint Barton and Bucky Barnes fell in love across the distance of sixty feet, six inches. The caption under the picture of the wedding party on the field reads, _“Hawkeye and The Asset: The Best Love Story in Minor League Baseball.”_

Bucky can’t disagree, snuggling Clint closer as they drink coffee on the couch. He loves his idiot and his idiot loves him. What could be better?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for reading and encouraging me all the way through this monstrosity of fluff. It's been a wild but wonderful ride!


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